


i love you (i don't want to)

by moonburntmemory



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, azula is bi as hell, himbo sokka (in attitude not intellect), katara and zuko are just a healthy relationship in the background, punk rock star! azula, the fuckboy sokka becomes a fuckman, who refuse to get married and are living in sin despite zuko knocking katara up
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-28
Updated: 2021-01-30
Packaged: 2021-03-14 07:07:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29042118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonburntmemory/pseuds/moonburntmemory
Summary: Azula's the lead singer of a punk rock band with a world at her fingertips that she wants to destroy.Sokka's just the guy she meets in a bar. Until he's more than that.
Relationships: Azula & Zuko (Avatar), Azula/Sokka (Avatar), background azula/self improvement, background zuko/katara
Comments: 24
Kudos: 63





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> title is from billie eilish's "i love you"

Azula woke up under the crushing weight of the pounding radiating out from her temples into every crevice in her skull. At first, she didn’t even want to open her eyes for fear of what awaited her. She had not even a semblance of recollection concerning where she was or how she had gotten into a bed with sheets of a much lower thread count than she was accustomed to. As her closed eyes registered the nascent rays of sunlight peeking through from an unknown source, Azula contemplated if she even wanted to know.

The dry foulness pervaded her limited sensations regarding the physical world that was the inside of her mouth. Contrary to her earlier beliefs, it was not a section of some spirits-forsaken desert designated as the place for all creatures to pee. Wetting the insides of her cheeks and bringing a tentative hand to probe the source of all-consuming pain that was Azula’s head, she began to realize that she was naked. As in, feeling sheets rubbing against places the sheets weren’t supposed to rub against if you were wearing anything related to clothing. Azula suppressed a groan at the conclusion entailed by her apparent nudity in a strange bed.

Her memories of the night before were like a childhood puzzle shared with her brother, Zuko, after years of using it. Missing pieces filled with only the oblivion of closed eyes and too much alcohol glared back at Azula every time she tried to pry into her subconscious. 

She was disappointed with herself, but not surprised. After all, her therapist did always say she had wildly self-destructive tendencies that were a danger to herself and those around her. Azula had to get her money’s worth out of that practically useless woman’s sessions, so this would probably be a good thing to bring up.

Azula had promised herself she was going to cut back. That she was going to be more responsible and stop staying up all night for events that she could never recall and that would end with her passed out on the floor of an aquarium entrance and being poked by a tourist child wearing trousers three sizes too large.

She’d lasted all of six days. Six incredibly idiotic days that she had spent miserable because responsible living was absolutely no fun. Five, if you counted the fact that she’d technically done tequila shots with Ty Lee after midnight on the first day and woken up with a skull-splitting headache that had made her want to dunk her head in the hotel ice machine.

It was like there was a squadron of sirens following her every move with temptations worth throwing herself against jagged rocks below.

It wasn't like she claimed to not have a problem, though. Azula could see what she was doing to herself; she was simply powerless to resist the urge. She could see herself careening towards her downfall in the distance, but couldn't find it within herself to hit the breaks. There was just too much going on for her to miss out because she had some far-fetched aspirations of living past age thirty. Of possibly getting to meet her niece or nephew that was currently keeping Zuko and his girlfriend (the only one Azula had ever approved of him dating), Katara, up all night with little kicks and punches. Azula desperately wanted to meet the feisty little one and for them to remember her as the fun aunt, not some family tragedy you only talk about on religious holidays. 

She was the lead singer of the punk rock band Daughters of the Flame and just coming off of a sold-out international tour; she should be on top of the world! Not literally having to be coaxed off of the roofs of extremely tall buildings that she’d climbed onto to declare that. 

She didn’t want the tears to intermix with last night’s foundation on her weathered cheeks, but they acted of their own accord. In another lifetime, she’d probably be a college student getting her master's degree this year. A starry-eyed twenty-six-year-old with a lifetime of opportunity ahead of her. Instead, she had a bedazzled bra mere inches away from her face and the quiet sounds of a stranger snoring beside her. Based on the infernal sounds alone, she’d gone home with a man last night. She must’ve been pretty drunk to do so, considering all of the enamoring vixens in the few moments of bar-hopping that she could still recall. 

Sitting up with practiced silence, Azula mindlessly gathered her bedazzled bra from the bed and bent over to pick up the discarded skirt and fishnets (now sporting two very fashionable rips next to the crotch, which Azula would probably continue to perform with).

After all, she had to uphold a safety-pin pierced, scowling image with enough smudged eyeliner to last lifetimes. There was no underwear to be found in this absolutely trashed hotel room littered with glow sticks snapped in two and the remnants of a raided mini bar, but Azula did manage to locate one of her thigh-high boots. 

Even ducking underneath the spring-filled mattress and peeking into a surprisingly intact bathroom, Azula could not locate her other boot. Pressing an arm against the marble support column adjacent to the sink, she breathed deeply and tried to compose herself. 

The irreplaceable boots had been a gift when she’d been nineteen years old and gotten her first big break. Zuko, a poor college student at the time, had poured hours and hours of work into their uncle’s teashop to save up for the real leather boots with the fancy brand-name insignia that had rubbed off long ago, declaring, “You’ve finally made it, little sis. I always knew you would.”

Nineteen-year-old Azula hadn’t known what that would entail. Twenty-six-year old Azula couldn’t really articulate it if you asked her to. She was free and in some stranger’s hotel bathroom, but it didn’t make her any less fucked up. Nothing really could. She supposed she had her father to thank for that.

Inhaling deeply, she mustered her composure and tried to ignore the blaring alarms in her head that made her want to lie in the bathtub in a fur coat with undecipherable French music blaring.

Wiping the smeared mascara from her eyes, Azula exited the cavernous bathroom inlaid with tiles laid with concrete and sand with the sole intention of getting the hell out and never returning. She would make this the latest in a long string of faint faces she couldn’t put a name to and that was final.

As she made her way towards the door, Azula stopped in her tracks. She hadn’t realized it in her hungover haze of waking up, but the light that had roused her through closed lids was breathtaking. In the panoramic view of a hotel room that was surely charged to her credit card, the most beautiful array of diffused pinks and purples and every other color represented in a rainbow stretched out across the cityscape horizon in front of her. 

Managing a small smile, Azula gave a little huff. Here was irrefutable proof that she hadn’t quite seen all of the beautiful things in the world yet. Azula made bad decisions with very little logical reasoning, but this one managed to break free of the trend. Its lack of foundation or purpose was outweighed by the morning beauty that Azula basked in amongst the regrets of the night before.

After the moment had exhausted the primordial sense of wonder contained within it, Azula’s gaze unintentionally shifted to the figure who’d shared a bed with her the night before.

At the sight of the tan expanse of uncovered skin, Azula’s recollection was swiftly and suddenly refreshed. A cardboard box containing every missing puzzle piece lost over the years was suddenly delivered to her doorstep with a ring of the doorbell. 

***

Azula had been rewarding herself for self-improvement by undoing all of her hard work when he had wandered into the bar. 

His eyes had flicked over her like every egotistical bag of lawn clippings that passed through and she had ignored him. It became harder to do so when he sat down one bar stool down from her at the solitary end of the counter. 

A few moments passed where Azula refused to acknowledge his existence and attempted to wallow over Ty Lee and Mai ditching early, but were quickly interrupted.

“You should stop with that one, you know. You’re going to destroy yourself with those fruity pink drinks,” the blue-eyed man with hair that made her inexplicably angry chastised in a warm, rasping voice.

“Have you ever considered that that’s the whole point?” Azula lazily shot back with her best impression of the Cheshire cat. Perhaps the next drink in a fancy glass would be able to transport her to an alternate dimension where the laws of logic and reason didn’t apply. Azula supposed she’d rather enjoy it there. “I can think of little other reason I would consume something that can only be categorized as fuschia,” she remarked, holding up her glass with the little blue umbrella resting on the rim.

“Well, it could also be because they taste like a tropical island made of processed sugar, but that’s just my guess,” the stranger smirked as he gestured to the bartender for one of what Azula was drinking.

“I’d consider that more of an afterthought,” she replied, studying the planes of his face with prominent cheekbones, exacerbated by his hair being pulled out of his face into what could only be classified as a man bun. Azula chided herself for responding to someone wearing a man bun unironically but put it down to her bra being clipped on too tight and restricting her airflow.

“Wow, a tough girl. I’m impressed. Just from looking at you, I bet you can swing back soju like it’s no one’s business,” the stranger chuckled heartily. 

He was right; Azula could drink soju, unlike anyone she’d ever met. He was funny enough to make her laugh and his eyes were a very pretty shade of blue and she was pretty tipsy, so why not?

“You’re not wrong. My name is Azula, by the way.”

He grinned as he’d just won the lottery on a ticket that wasn’t his and extended a hand for her to shake. “Pretty name. I'm Sokka.”

***

A flutter of fondness rose in her chest at the recollection of the night before, taking Azula by surprise. They’d both had a few more drinks following their introductions, judging by the fact that everything was incredibly hazy after that.

But she recalled flashes of his smile, of the feeling of the planes of his stomach underneath her hands, of falling asleep in his arms smiling. 

There might have been mumbling about the promise of breakfast after she closed her eyes. Azula might have dreamt it, but that didn’t matter. 

A small smile graced her lips without the aftertaste of irony or bitterness, a rarity for Azula. Last night’s version of herself had managed to find a gentleman while drunk off of her ass. It was a testament to her people skills, or at least she was going to classify it as such.

And do the nicest thing she could for said gentlemen: leave before he woke up. She and Sokka could be something great together. They could listen to the call of the sirens and leap into the unknown together, but they would fall to their deaths before anything resembling a paradise was discovered. 

They’d be a brilliant fire roaring for all to see, but it would inevitably be extinguished to nothing but embers. Azula didn’t want to leave Sokka in the darkness alone after all the light was gone, but she also didn’t want to be left in that position again. This was the only option and all of her conflicting feelings had to be disregarded. He was better off without her in his life. Sokka would be happier that way.

Leaning over the bed she was eager to forget in which she’d spent a night she already had, Azula pressed a chaste kiss to his forehead and turned around to leave with her single shoe in hand. The soothing timbre of his once-annoying snoring that she’d become accustomed to lulled her down the halls and into the elevator. 

Stopping by the nearest coffee shop to get expresso, she checked her bank statement on the cracked screen of her phone. There was no charge for a hotel room the night before.

***

A week later, she’d done her best to forget the events of that night as she repeated the cycle of forgoing the partying lifestyle that she would eventually resume.

The excitement over Katara’s baby shower had managed to banish all of the other bullshit into the distance. She was satisfied with her punctuality; she’d have time to help them set up before their other friends arrived fashionably late. Bearing a gigantic box full of baby books from their childhood that Azula had dug out of a storage unit, she rang their doorbell perfectly on time.

The mahogany wood swung open on its creaky hinges to reveal a practically glowing Katara beaming at her. She moved her hands from caressing her swollen belly onto Azula's shoulder, exclaiming, “Come in! Oh wow, that’s a really big box. You really didn’t have to. Zuko, Azula’s here!”

As Azula stepped inside their apartment and set the books down on the floor, Katara tutted, “Don’t worry about all of that. My brother will grab them for you.”

The exuberant smile resting on Azula’s face vanished within milliseconds as Sokka, with his familiar eyes and hair and smile that hadn’t faded with her presence, trotted in.

"Azula, this is Sokka. He's very good at carrying heaving boxes," Katara smiled cheerily as he advanced towards them.

His mouth hung agape with disbelief before quirking up into something resembling a smile. “Hi, Azula.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> introducing fuckboy sokka ladies and gentlemen

Sokka couldn’t help the way his jaw dropped in utterly dumbfounded surprise that day he’d woken up alone in a strange hotel room without the girl he’d fell asleep sharing it with. It was rather disorienting: being the one left behind instead of the one leaving with his feet only shoved halfway into his shoes. He was somewhat of a connoisseur of hotel hallway carpets with his history of frequent stealthy exits.

There were times when Sokka would be wracked by a new strain of guilt regarding the perfectly pleasant individual who would undoubtedly be somewhat offended the morning of until around lunchtime of that day. He staved these accumulations of his conscience off by assuring himself that he hadn’t ever verbalized a desire for anything more than one night. Their own assumptions were the cause of their mild heartbreak, not Sokka’s actions. 

Being the one waking up in a cold bed without the warmth of someone else pressed into his shoulder, however, had given him a new appreciation for the position. It fucking sucked.

When he’d seen the dark-haired presence at the bar, Sokka had almost forgotten how to breathe for a moment. Her magnetic atmosphere seemed to diffuse into the air around her, electrifying it to the point that he was unable to look away. Her tight black clothes hugged her body in a way that mesmerized every man there, although none could gather the courage to address the girl with the eyes of hardened stone. As he stared from afar, Sokka wondered why such a beautiful shade of amber was transfixed to the shelf of alcohol behind the bar with simmering disappointment. 

Her leather-clad legs were lazily crossed as she slumped over her bar stool and onto the dirty counter, not seeming to notice or care. Just standing within close proximity to this exuberant yet dissatisfied girl was enough to make Sokka’s heart beat rapidly, causing him to forget any previous hopes of the blonde at the other end of the bar. The sleek ebony strands confined into a scraggly high ponytail with the remains of dried sweat were far more intriguing to him. 

He had to meet her, to talk to her, to know every curve of her body without the black leather covering it and the source of her capabilities of drawing him in. It was as though an unheard siren song was wafting through the stale air of the bar and pulling him toward her by the wrinkled collar of his shirt. He couldn’t deny this inexorable attraction to her that simply couldn’t be explained using his normal vocabulary (or be attributed to the buzz already present in his mind due to the many drinks he’d had). His course of action was already settled by the time he strode up to her and plopped himself down near the counter, deciding his opening line on a whim as her eyes glanced to the side and scanned over him. 

She was hesitant at first, just as he had expected. Keeping the conversation light and humorous, Sokka mostly talked of alcohol, paying her tolerance compliments. The light blush dusting over the graceful angles of her cheekbones affirmed his suspicions that flattery would get him places with this girl. Her whip-sharpness put him on the fragile surface of a frozen river come spring, but Sokka was more than capable of navigating such dangerous terrain. She was a stark contrast to Sokka’s usual habits, but he supposed that was what had drawn him to her in the first place. She stood upon the same thin ice as him, for once putting him on equal ground with someone in a bar.

At the introduction of her name into this game they were playing with each other, Sokka couldn’t help but grin unabashedly. Azula was a beautiful name for the fierce girl in front of him that led him to believe he had met his match. 

He had been quite an idiot back then. That much was clear to him in the blinding clarity of hindsight. It had been rather foolish to think of Azula as yet another conquest. Why would you want to conquer someone so magnificent? It would all but erase the wild, unpredictable grace and beauty that made her so intoxicating in the first place.

How he ever could have thought of Azula in relativity to himself was an unsolvable mystery. It was rather clear she existed within the confines of herself and any overlap in the lives of others was blissful mercy from the separate plane of existence she existed upon. The gravity of the girl beside him grounded Sokka in a manner he’d never experienced, even more so as she stroked the pads of his nimble fingertips into the grooves of his chest.

The combined sweat of the two of them was absorbed into Sokka’s sheets, but the prospect of an earlier laundry day seemed as distant as the unreachable horizon on a clear day. “Told you my apartment was closer,” Sokka gloated as he freed his left arm to wrap around Azula.

“That just means you live closer to your sister. Is that really something you want to brag about?” Azula shot back, smacking his hand away.

“Yeah, well you should be grateful for that. If I didn’t live so close to Kat and Zuko we would’ve ended up fucking like animals in their living room in the middle of their baby shower. And Toph never would’ve let anyone forget.”

“Yes, that _does_ seem to be her style. I only met her today but she is, by far, my favorite. Ride or fuckin’ die,” Azula praised, a small smirk falling upon her cherry-stained lips.

Sokka scoffed and wove his hand through the air at the perceived betrayal. “Impossible! I was there! That’s gotta be hearsay because _I_ am your ultimate favorite, Zula.”

She brought her hand from his chest to pat him on the head. “That’s cute, you big lug nut.”

“I better be your favorite. You think Toph could pull off what I just did?” he asked with raised eyebrows, gesturing to the entanglement of their naked forms partially obscured by the seal-patterned comforters that had been the source of much ridicule upon Azula’s entrance. 

Azula dissolved into genuine laughter, a pure, high-pitched sound that he’d never heard from her before. Her eyes scrunched at the corners while her head tilted back and the giggling escaped from her. Sokka stared in awe at the rarity he’d just witnessed, making it his life’s mission to replicate that reaction as frequently as possible.

“I’ll give you that one. Your…” she dissolved into another fit of laughter before continuing,” your dick game was on point… Why are you looking at me like that?”

The better question was how could he not look at her with unadulterated awe and disbelief? She’d gone from an intangible force of nature to someone he could reach out and touch. Sokka had no clue how, but he’d managed to find the completely unattainable girl that had been haunting him for a week straight. In a way, Sokka had the baby shower to thank for the fate or coincidence or luck that had brought them back together. Who’d have thought his niece or nephew would’ve made such a great wingman before they were even born?

***

Sokka had walked into his sister’s living room with the expectation he’d have to lug heavy things around for her, not that he’d be reunited with a former flame who’d ditched him before the sun even rose. 

Azula’s molten gold irises were on display as they widened with insecurity he’d never detected in them before. As he smiled in thanks for the universe’s divine providence, surprise joined the complex mixture of emotions even more hybridized than the drinks she ordered. Azula wasn’t an easy read, but a person biting their lip could only have so many meanings.

“Hi, Azula,” he raised his eyebrows, “it’s very nice to meet you.”

“Uh, hi. Likewise,” she stuttered out. This was the first time Sokka had ever caught her off guard. 

“Azula is Zuko’s sister, you know, the one we’re always talking about,” Katara rattled on happily, slowing her speech slightly as if aware of the currents of tension flowing between Azula and him.

“Wow, I can finally put a face to the name. You're much prettier than Zuko. Kat, I think you picked the wrong sibling,” Sokka chuckled as Katara thumped him upside the head.

As if one cue, Zuko shuffled in looking incredibly unamused. “Could you please try not to encourage them?”

Finally realizing that Sokka was not in the mood to facilitate a dramatic reveal today, Azula managed to reassemble her facade. “See? We even have an outside source, now, Zuko. Face it, your girlfriend and I were meant for each other.”

Zuko stepped behind Katara and placed a crumpled party hat on her head before wrapping his arms around her swollen stomach. “Give Zuko a break, you two. I’m not leaving him. He just slaved away putting up streamers in the kitchen, you know,” Katara smiled.

“If I ever get this gross, please kidnap me in the middle of the night and leave me in a dumpster in New Jersey,” Azula deadpanned, eliciting a chorus of laughter from Sokka.

“Only if you’ll do the same for me. We’ll have to have a pact,” Sokka confirmed, locking eyes with her. They stared at each other for a moment too long before a knock resounded from the door, causing Katara and Zuko to rush over to answer it.

“I’ll just drop these in the kitchen,” Sokka called out as he picked up the boxes and ignored Aang and Suki walking through the door. He had, after all, seen them approximately two hours ago.

“I’ll, uh, help!” Azula called out from behind him, rushing into the kitchen alone with him.

As the door to the kitchen slammed shut, rendering them alone amongst Zuko’s best attempts to hang a collection of streamers on the walls, she immediately dropped the boxes onto the ground. “What. The. Literal. Fuck,” she announced.

“Fancy seeing you here,” Sokka replied without looking up from the boxes he was setting down next to Katara and Zuko’s kitchen table.

“ _You’re_ Katara’s brother? The one with the state record for most separate fishhook-related emergency room visits?” Azula blanched as he finally met her blazing eyes.

“And you’re the reason Zuko specifically has fire insurance?” Sokka shot back.

“It was one time! But, holy shit! How are you here?”

Sokka opened his sister’s fridge and started to poke through it. “For my sister’s baby shower. We’ve been over this.”

Azula did not seem amused. “I meant what are the chances? We — we _slept together_!” she whisper-yelled.

“We have,” Sokka confirmed calmly.

Azula let a pause grow between them before sighing loudly. “I guess I should apologize for taking off. I didn’t think I’d ever had to deal with you again.”

Sokka opened a container of potato salad and took a sniff. “That doesn’t sound very much like an apology.”

Azula crossed her arms as her eyes darted along with the room. “Can you stop snooping through the fridge and look at me? How are you so calm about this? How are we supposed to hide this from Katara and Zuko?”

Sokka grabbed a moon peach and closed the fridge door with a thump, replying, “By not telling them.”

“Can you please take this seriously?” Azula demanded as Sokka bit into the peach, spilling the juice all over his chin.

“I’ll have you know I’m taking this very seriously,” Sokka shot back, his voice muffled around his mouthful of fruit.

“We should’ve seen this coming. I mean, the resemblance is _right there._ How did we not see this coming?” Azula fretted.

“Probably something to do with the fact we were both completely wasted. Just my guess,” Sokka said with a shrug.

Azula facepalmed, but Sokka merely closed the space between them until she had to crane her neck up to meet his gaze.

“Where do we go from here?” 

Sokka grinned. “Well, I rather enjoyed myself during our last rendezvous and I think you did, too. So that depends on whether or not we keep fucking.”

***

He paused for a moment before he could muster a response that wouldn’t get him a flick on the forehead and chiding to “not be so damn sentimental and gooey”. “I’m just taking it all in. I almost can’t believe that I’m here with you right now. I need someone to pinch me.”

Azula grinned like she'd discovered a yard sale carrying exclusively leather jackets and explicit pins to match.

“Ow!” Sokka yelped mere seconds after his mini-monologue. “What was that for!?!?”

Azula recoiled her offending hand and shrugged as she rolled over onto her chest so that her head was turned to him, leaving only her back uncovered by the sheets. Sokka suppressed the desire to trace circles into the bare skin. “You said you needed someone to pinch you.”

“I didn’t mean it _literally_!” Sokka protested, rubbing his forearm where she’d attacked.

“Then you shouldn’t have said it,” Azula huffed, lifting her arm to rub a stiffness plaguing the back of her neck.

Seeing his opportunity to strike, Sokka seized the moment and flung himself on top of her withthe sole purpose of tickling the absolute shit out of every vulnerable spot he could find.

“Gah! Sokka! Knock it off! What the fuck?” Azula screeched in between fits of forced laughter as she buckled underneath Sokka. He continued the featherlight movements of his fingers underneath her arms, neck, and everywhere else he could reach despite her opposition.

“Ha! Never! I wouldn’t have pegged you as ticklish!”

Azula continued to squeal as Sokka pinned her arms to the bed so she would stop trying to pull his loose hair. “You’re the absolute worst! I will drown you in the bathtub, you big, old squirrel fart!”

Letting out a bellowing chuckle of his own, Sokka eased his ministrations and locked eyes with her, their noses practically touching. “I’m a squirrel fart? Where do you come up with these?”

Azula continued her glare despite the beginnings of a smile forcing up the corners of her lip. “It’s just like songwriting or poetry. You say whatever comes to mind.”

“If I said whatever came to mind, it would all be about food,” Sokka mused, coaxing the last of the reluctant smile from Azula. 

However, it wasn’t free; it came with the price of getting kneed in the groin by her with no effort to be gentle.

“Oh fuck!” Sokka fell into the mattress beside her as Azula scrambled up and out of the bed. “Tickling is not equal to kneeing someone in the balls, y’know.”

Groaning at the unending pain, he almost didn’t notice Azula hastily zipping up her high waisted jeans and putting her lacy bra on. “I say it is, so it is.”

Sokka stuck his tongue out at her.“That seems unfair. Who made you supreme dictator? This election is contested, Azula!”

“I’m gonna let you in on a secret, Sokka. C’mere,” Azula demanded as she leaned over the bed and gestured for him to come closer.

“Oh? And what would that be?” Sokka countered as she leaned into his throat, biting down on his earlobe with only wisps of pressure. This effectively shut him up.

“My fuckbuddies don’t have voting rights,” she whispered before pulling away and striding towards his bedroom door.

As the dim light of his alarm clock cast through the dead of night, it illuminated the outline of Azula leaving him... yet again.

“You’re not gonna stay for breakfast this time?” Sokka called out as she reached the door, his mind spinning in circles around a collection of pancake recipes. If he had to guess, he’d say her favorite would be the cinnamon-sugar ones.

Azula turned around, eyes glinting even in the darkness. “Can’t. I’ll see you next time, Sokka.”

“There’ll be a next time?” he asked, hope rising up in his voice like steam from a pot of boiling soup left on the stove too long.

“Yeah. There will be,” she replied in a silvery voice close to laughter that rang out long past the clicking sound of the door shutting.

**Author's Note:**

> feel free to yell at me [here](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/view/meekothetrashpanda)


End file.
